


Orange Blossoms

by IchiBri



Series: JMMonth2017 [9]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, canonverse, in memoriam, in the years following Marco's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Every year, Jean buys an orange blossom in memory of Marco, and today marks the tenth year.JeanMarcoMonth2017 - Prompt Change/Eternity





	Orange Blossoms

Even with overgrown underbrush and prickly shrubs and branches, Jean knew the path like the back of his hand.  He walked it every year on this date for the past ten years.  He never expected to live this long or to walk this unkept path more than once, but here he was trekking through grass up to his knees.

Brushing aside overhanging branches, Jean’s hand feathered over his trouser pocket in its downswing.  The small outline of a seed had his fingers lingering to trace its shape.

It wasn’t his normal offering.  Every previous year he brought with him an orange blossom sprig with soft white petals shaped like stars – the same stars that used to dot Marco’s skin.

The first time, he shelled out two months’ pay for a single blossom.  The merchant had called him crazy when he told them he was buying it for a friend – a dead one at that – but Jean simply smiled as he thought of how many meals he’d have to skip to afford the tiny flower.  He never imagined he’d come back a second year and then a third.  By then, he was supposed to have followed Marco into the pyre.

On the fourth year, the merchant offhandedly grumbled about Jean’s waste of a luxurious blossom.  Anger bubbled within his gut, and his fist balled around his coin pouch.  But Jean was no longer a hot-tempered brat who lashed out at every insensitive comment.  He merely gritted his teeth and dug his fingernails into his palm.

But when the merchant explained themself, Jean’s anger dissipated like smoke on the breeze.  “Sonny, these flowers are special.  Don’t you know they mean eternal love?  The nobles are all about using them in weddings and proposals and such.”

Jean’s eyes had downturned as his lower lip trembled around his next breath.  He hadn’t known.  How could he?  He simply picked the flower because it reminded him of Marco, and he was willing to pay any price to atone for playing a hand in his death.

His lips pursed and his nose scrunched as he sniffled.  But with a quick bat of his eyes, Jean smiled – so tender and bittersweet it had the merchant blinking in surprise.

“It’s perfect then,” Jean had said as he laid the gold coins on the stall.  He nodded his head in farewell before gently scooping up the flower.

Walking the path that day, Jean cried as he thought of the future he and Marco missed out on.

By the fifth year, the merchant stopped prying.  They had a sprig ready for Jean when he came.

At the seventh, Jean paid the price of one, but the merchant gave him two.  Jean shook his head and insisted he pay full price.

But the merchant smiled at him, much like Jean had the fourth year, and said, “Kiddo, it pains my old heart to take your money year after year.  Your friend must’ve meant a hell of a lot if you’re still this hung up over ‘em.  So take it.  I know you’ll be back for another.”

The merchant was right.  Like clockwork, he came back the next year and bought another orange blossom.

This morning marked the tenth year.  Ten years without Marco, Jean couldn’t believe it’d been so long.  To him, the world stopped turning the moment he happened upon Marco’s remains.  Since then, the days had lengthened and blurred, and he wasn’t sure why he bothered waking up most mornings.

Today was no exception.  If anything, it took an excruciating amount of effort for Jean to get out of bed and take his walk down to the market.  But despite the little voice which told him to remain curled up beneath the covers, he dressed and headed out.  For Marco, he told himself.

It seemed he said that a lot more these days.

When Jean arrived at the stall, the merchant perked up with an excited gasp.  But Jean couldn’t mirror the mirth.  The best he could do was a small smile that barely reached his eyes.

“Sonny, I got something special for you,” the merchant reached into their apron pocket.  They withdrew their balled hand and gestured for Jean to hold out his.

Jean obliged, if only to humor them.  When the merchant uncurled their fingers, a single oblong seed fell to Jean’s palm.

Dumbfounded, Jean stared blankly at the seed.

“It’s an orange seed,” the merchant said, animated in their elation.  “Plant that for your friend, and he’ll have far more blossoms than he knows what to do with.”

Jean blinked against the hot sting of tears in his eyes.  “I can’t afford–”

“Take it.”  The merchant reached out to gently close Jean’s fingers around the seed.  “I don’t want any more of your money.”

Jean’s lips parted to protest, to insist on some sort of compensation, but nothing came out.

“Go.  Plant it and bring me an orange when it matures, and we’ll call it even.”

Jean’s grasp tightened around the seed as he brought it to his chest.  With a slow blink of his eyes, he inhaled a steadying breath.  “Thank you,” he quietly said.

Now as he neared the opening of the meadow, Jean felt the seed heavy in his pocket as if it carried his few remaining hopes and dreams.  Or maybe it was his regrets, for they far outweighed the prior.

Jean stumbled into the clearing.  Wildflowers of reds and yellows and violets reached the backs of his knees as he waded through them.  He liked to think of them as the sea in the forbidden books of old, how each flower swayed back and forth with the breeze like ripples upon water.

It almost pained him to pluck a patch up by their roots, but he cleared them away.  He knelt upon the ground and retrieved a pocket knife from his trousers.  It wasn’t ideal, but he dug the blade into the earth and upturned the soil.

When he reached for the seed, his fingers gingerly pinched it between them.  He held it for a long moment, simply staring until he brought it to his lips.  With that one kiss, Jean squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whomever cared to listen that Marco was at peace.

After his eyelids fluttered open, Jean placed the seed in the soil.  He carefully covered it and lightly patted down the earth.

“Hey, Marco,” he began quietly, shifting to sit cross-legged.  “It’s been a long time, huh?  Too long, in my opinion,” he weakly laughed.

His gaze turned to the sky.  As the clouds slowly floated by, Jean leaned back until his head hit the grass.  He turned his gaze to the small mound of dirt.  “I hope it grows.  You’ll watch over it, won’t you?  You were always good at that.”

Jean sniffled as he wiped away a tear rolling over his cheek.  With the sea of wildflowers building a wall around him, he felt the weight of the sky pressing against his chest.  “I miss you.  So damn much, Marco,” his voice broke on the name.  “I– I shouldn’t be here.  I should be up there with you.”

The tears flowed freely as Jean sucked in a shaky breath.  “I just wanted an eternity, Marco.  Was that too much to ask?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ichibri on tumblr and twitter


End file.
